


Crazy, Rich, Elves

by KeeperSpock



Category: Crazy Rich Asians (2018), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan (Dragon Age), Dalish Elves, Elven Glory, Elven Sentinels, Escapism, Evanurius, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Food Porn, Happy Ending, Make Believe, Romance, Travel, Worldbuilding, low-key drama, rich elves, rich people, the crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperSpock/pseuds/KeeperSpock
Summary: Ellana Lavellan is going home with fellow Professor Solas Fen'Harel for a wedding in Arlathan. She's excited, only upon arrival she's learned that Solas has been keeping secrets from her and that he's the heir to one of the largest fortunes in the elven city-state--a fact his mother Mythal is more than happy to remind Ellana of at every opportunity.Crazy, Rich, Asians & Dragon Age crossover.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Preface, Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30 years before the start of our story, Solas travels outside of Arlathan for the first time to drop his cousin, June, off at boarding school.

**PREFACE**

Solas was soaked to the bone when he and his mother Mythal ended up at the Gull and Lantern. They had been traveling by air for the last twelve hours as a family. True to her style, his mother had insisted on taking public transit from the airport to the ostentatious hotel as a cost-saving measure. By the time they make it to check-in, it’s in the middle of the night, and the lobby is deserted except for two clerks at the front desk, yawning discreetly. 

Behind the desk is an oil painting of a grim-looking human, the brass placard underneath reading Ban Teagan Guerrin. Solas is trying to make sense of the place. It’s marble floors mixed with heavy wooden cross-beams. It has a look that he understands from the action movies he and his cousin June have secretly watched as typical of the Feraldin aesthetic: bearskin rugs and red velvet tapestries. It’s so different from Arlathan, the city-state where he is from, warm year-round and built out of crystal spires. 

Solas is glad that, unlike June. that he won’t be in boarding school here. His mother, Mythal, would never abandon him in a place like this. At least, not for a few more years. 

His cousin Astrid is shivering next to him while his aunts mutter in Elvhen close to the entryway. His youngest aunt, Ghilan'nan, complained to his middle aunt, Sylaise, about how his mother had insisted on taking the train. It’s raining outside. Cold, hard droplets, and now all the kids are soaked. They’ll all catch a cold and be forced to stay in this dreadful country for weeks eating bland food and, _lasa ghilan_ *, why did their brother marry such a stubborn woman who always had to have her way. 

Solas isn’t really paying attention. He’s freezing and starving, and all he wants is a large bed to curl up in. Fereldin’s streets are mostly mud, and he’s tracked in a great deal of it into the hotel, accidentally making large circles that one of the clerks has noticed and gaped at. 

Astrid takes his hand in her own. She’s his favorite cousin. Sweet and fun to play with. They are almost the same age, she at nine, one year older than him. 

“Do you think we can go to bed soon?” She groans. 

Solas isn’t sure. He’s watching his mother barter with one of the desk people. She’s put on the posh accent she uses whenever she speaks to humans. “I’m Mrs.Fen’Harel. I have a reservation, the largest suite.” Her voice gets more tense when a portly dwarf runs out from a back room. He’s obviously just woken up, his suit rumpled. Solas likes to think he was sitting in a chair and watching a black and white television like some security guards do at home. 

“Hello, I am Oghren, hotel manager,” The fat dwarf continues. Closer and Solas notices that he has a red beard matted with crumbs. His mother hates disheveled individuals, thinks that they are unworthy of her time. She’s constantly telling Solas this as she cleans off his face, making sure his pale skin is always perfectly scrubbed so that “everyone can see his cute little freckles, _da’len._ ” 

“Is there a problem?” His mother repeats. Her mouth is drawn in a firm line. The halla skin coat she is wearing slick with moisture. Usually, she is so composed and put together, wearing elegant suits and expensive jewelry. None of which she has brought on this trip as she's convinced the _shems_ might steal it. Solas isn't sure who the _shems_ are but he's heard his aunts using the word a lot. 

“I’m afraid we are fully booked,” Oghren insists. Solas isn’t sure what the stale smell wafting off him is. It smells like a drawer in his father’s office. He’s certain that he doesn’t like it. 

“We’ve been flying from Arlathan for hours.” 

“You must have made a mistake. I’m sure you and your lovely…” the dwarf pauses, looking at the bedraggled elves standing behind his mother, “family can find other accommodations. May I suggest you explore the old alienage?” 

“ _Mah shemlin dara to anabanal,”_ Solas’ aunt Sylaise mutters to Ghilan'nan, who is tittering at her curses, pushing back a bit to whisper, _“not in front of the children.”_

Mythal sighs. Solas knows that if they were in Arlathan, she’d be throwing a tantrum, yelling and screaming at staff who are more than happy to oblige her every whim. Here amongst the humans, however, her standing is not so high. He’s not sure how he knows this, but some deep part of himself recognizes that his importance is also not as pronounced as it is at home, where he has a driver, a nanny, and a dog named _da’fen_ like his favorite television show.*

“May I please then use your telephone to call my husband? It is the least you can do.” His mother’s voice is high, tilting upwards in tone, in sharp contrast to the pronounced glare she’s leveraging at Oghren. For a moment, Solas thinks the dwarf might relent. He’s obviously nervous at having this elven woman yell at him. Instead, he smiles and points to a phone booth across the street. 

Mythal huffs over, unphased by the rain, which has turned into a muddy sleet. Solas and Astrid sit down on a couch while June plays with the mud on the floor, tracing intricate circles with his feet, much to Ogrhen’s dismay. The dwarf is trying to reason with his aunts, who pretend not to speak Common, when Solas’ mother bursts back in about ten minutes later. She has a look on her face that Solas recognizes as dangerous. One that indicates that someone has done something shameful and she has caught them. His mother is not forgiving. 

“Mrs. Fen’Harel, I must ask you to leave, or I will call the Grey Wardens!” Oghren exclaims.

“Go right ahead,” Mythal says. It’s not an explicit threat, but Solas enjoys the way Ogrhen blanches at the words. He understands that something foul is going on, that their exclusion is not a kindness, even if he’s not quite sure what is behind its motivations. It seems right that his mother would win. 

An elevator in the lobby makes a jolly ding, and a grizzled man in a purple silk robe and slippers bursts out with his arms wide open. By the time the man reaches his mother to pull her into an embrace, Astrid leans over and excitedly whispers to Solas, _“It’s the man from the painting!”_

Solas is watching Oghren. The dwarf’s face is puzzled and then nervous. Drops of sweat are breaking out over his face, and the clerks behind the desk pale. 

“Oh, Ban Teagan, I am so sorry for this disturbance,” Oghren yelps as the Ban raises a hand to silence him. Snapping, he gestures at the clerks. 

“Get the suite ready! Now! I will not ask again.” Ban Teagan snaps. His face is turning bright red like Solas' father does when he's angry at work or the stock market. 

“Surely you're joking, _er_. Sir.” Oghren says. 

“I am not Ogrhen. As of this evening, my family’s long history as custodians of the Gull and Lantern has ended. I am selling this historic hotel to my dear friends, the Fen’Harel’s of Arlathan.” 

Oghren faints and falls to the floor as Mythal looks smugly down at where he lays. 

Everyone ignores the unconscious dwarf. The clerks scurried about with unexpected energy. 

“Now, let’s go have a toast, dear Mythal. I’d be delighted to know how Elgar’nan’s golf game is going.” 

Oghren sputters on the floor. Solas laughs as his mother winks at him and looks down at the dwarf, demanding in a voice that signals her disdain, “This floor is filthy, get a mop, and clean it up!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lasa ghilan* An expression widely used by Arlathan citizens that covers any wide range of situations, exclamations, or curses. Translates roughly to "grant me the strength," or "bless my heart." Most of the time "Oh, shit." Can also be used for emphasis, like "for fuck's sake."
> 
> da’fen* or little wolf is a popular children's television show in Arlathan where the lead dog, a white fluffy shiba inu, solves banal mysteries while offering a helping hand.
> 
> Mah shemlin dara to anabanal=that non-elf can go to hell.
> 
> This is going to be a quick little light-hearted project. Keeping Astrid and a few other characters from Crazy, Rich, Asians and merging it with DAI. I'm going to work from the movie (yes, I also love the books) for reasons that will be clear at the end of this story. This is not going to be faithful to canon, but more playful with sandwiching the worlds together. Expect lots of made-up food and rich descriptions of outfits.
> 
> I'm not going to be updating this one as much as I did Fade Objects, I think I can manage an update every other week.


	2. Solas and Ellana, Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, our romantic protagonists are introduced.

**Solas and Ellana, Kirkwall**

Dr. Ellana Lavellan is a short blonde professor. She doesn’t have an elaborate look that the elves of Arlathan have. For instance, she’s wearing a cute pantsuit with a pale pink shell. The outfit is as straightforward as it is functional. On the other hand, the obviously Arlathaian twin elves that just walked into the cafe that she’s sitting at are wearing tartan caplets with tulle skirts that stopped just above the ankle, revealing bejeweled mules. 

Considering that it is summer in Kirkwall, Ellana imagines that the twins would need a driver to get around. An exorbitant expense in the bustling metropolis. The city is much cleaner than it once was, but it wouldn’t be pleasant to lose a shoe on the regularly shit-covered streets. A hazard, unlike Ellana, that dainty women generally tend to avoid. 

She doesn’t have long to deliberate about the strange look the elves are shooting in her direction. Ellana thinks it might be because she is a Dalish elf, easily identified as such with two thin branches tattooed on her cheeks. The elves of Arlathan don't exactly care for the Dalish, even if most of its population can claim some Dalish heritage--however distant. It’s not an open hatred, and Ellana doesn’t exactly care if it is because she’s sitting with her boyfriend, Dr. Solas Fen’Harel, who is obviously not Dalish and therefore possibly (but actually) Arlathian. 

Solas is a handsome man with chiseled features that her college roommate, Dorian, would say photograph well. Ellana has often wondered what it had been like for Solas to grow up in Arlathan as he’s understated in a way that’s not indicative that he grew up there. For instance, he’s wearing an understated gray suit with a blue button-down (1), and unlike the fashion magazines she saw her college roommate read depicting intricate multi-colored braids, Solas is bald. Decisively and completely, bald like an egg. 

The couple were sharing a bite of cake, sitting at the counter of the old-style diner. Ellana has eaten more than half of it, and Solas has been teasing her about getting her own next time. Later, they’ll go for a walk by the Waking Sea before climbing into Solas’ large king-sized bed. The semester is finally over, grades submitted, and out of office email responders turned on. 

“Ellana,” Solas abruptly announces with the posh baritone accent he falls into whenever saying something he deems important. “I’m in a wedding this summer and thought you might want to come home with me.” 

“A wedding?” Ellana instantly begins to calculate the importance of this invitation. It’s hard not to, at thirty, to get excited at the subject of matrimony. Not that Ellana feels that she _needs_ to get married, but the past year of dating Solas has sparked her thinking that she might like to get married; that she might like to get married to Solas. Lately, she’s getting hints that the idea might be mutual. Solas is almost a decade older than her and would like to have children. 

“My childhood friends Felassan and Briala are going to be getting married the second week of summer. I’m going to be the best man, and I thought we could wander around the tropics of Thedas once it’s over. I know you’ve never been that far West, so I’d love to show you some of the sights, give you a tour from a local--” 

Ellana sharply inhales before responding. Solas makes occasional mentions of his life in Arlathan, but they are always ambiguous anecdotes with some regularly occurring subjects. He hasn’t lived there for almost two decades, so Ellana has always figured that the relevance is not immediate or at the top of his mind. Now, hearing the soft reverent voice when he’s referring to home has her wondering why he hasn’t told her more about his home or family. Ellana is certainly a willing audience. 

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your best man duties.” Ellana replied with a halting breath. She’s not sure why she’s nervous or why she senses Solas’ question has introduced a new stake to their otherwise dreamy courtship. 

“What if I throw in a special trip to the magical cave where--,” Solas pauses, his voice growing low in a way he knows makes her crazy. 

“...you lost your virginity?” Ellana gives a whimsical laugh. 

“We can stage a reenactment.”

Ellana hums as she considers Solas’ offer. She wants to meet his childhood friends. She wants to meet his family. Recently, they watched a special on Arlathan cuisine on the public television channel, and Solas rolled his eyes at several of the host’s suggestions, complaining that they were “obvious,” and “lacked understanding and subtly necessary to report on the best destinations to eat in a place where eating was a national pastime.” It would be something to go and try some of the obscure restaurants that Solas described to her in great detail as they drifted off to sleep. 

“Besides, doesn’t one of your strange college roommates live there?” Solas asks with a wry smile. 

“Dorian? Yes, his father is a diplomat from Minrathous and his mother a local.” (2) 

“You can hang out with him while I’m off on wedding duties--and after, we can go on a driving trip to some nice bed and breakfasts, you’re not teaching this summer, and--” Solas pauses, a twinkle in his eye, “I can’t express in words how much it would mean to me to introduce you to my grandmother.” 

Ellana knows that Solas is exceptionally close to his grandmother. It is the one absolute she knows about his upbringing. She’s fuzzy on the details, but she knows that Solas lived with her. It’s more common for multigenerational households to exist in Arlathan, so it's not entirely strange. Still, she can tell whenever he describes his grandmother’s cooking or preferences that Solas’ _mor-lanalin,_ or “ _lahma.”_ is an influential person in his life. (3) If not, _the_ most important person in his life. 

“She makes the best cake,” he says with an arched eyebrow. “What else can I say to tempt you. I can take care of the tickets and--” 

“Alright, alright. I will go with you to Arlathan.” 

“You won’t regret it.” 

\---

Ellana might never have agreed to go to Arlathan with Solas if she knew the machinations of power that were already swirling around her. She didn’t see, for instance, one of the Arlathan twins surreptitiously snap a photograph of Solas leaning down to affectionately touch her arm or later when he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as he led her out the restaurant. 

In less than an hour, both images were rapidly circulated by the young elite of Arlathan, her name googled, and publications on game theory and economics mocked by individuals educated in the rhetoric but without the necessary curiosity to understand the nuance of her arguments.

Ellana did not know her name was trending on the social media accounts of every elf of Arlathan origin, not only in the city-state itself, but by the elite jet setting crowd that bummed around Val Royeaux and Minrathous, in Denerim and Emprise du Lion, in Navarra City and Lothering. 

It’s not that Ellana was intensely private. She was a published author and academic. Not so prominent in the field that she had gained any celebrity, but her worked was talked about. No, she would have been the type of person who would have wanted to correct a number of misconceptions about her history, or that although a number of wealthy Dalish merchants shared her common last name, that she had no relation to them and while comfortable, had never had a problem earning her way through life. 

As one elven noble suggested, she was not the daughter of a business tycoon in the far reaches of the Free Marshes.

Nor was she distantly related to a member of Arlathan parliament.

Just because she bore a passing resemblance to the movie star Neria Surana did not mean she was an actor herself. 

No, Ellana was the child of an elven immigrant from a rural, poverty-stricken Dalish reservation. A first-generation college graduate of a single mother who flipped houses in Kirkwall’s alienage. She was decisively elven but did not put on the airs of Arlathan or use words like _shemlin_ or flat ears(4). She was not ashamed to bargain shop, thrift, or wear off-brand clothing.

Ellana likes to meal plan and cook enough on Sundays to not have to buy lunch out.

Although she could afford a car, she prefers to take public transit and live in an unfashionable side of town where there is only one bodega that doubles as a bar and coffee shop. 

Ellana certainly would have thought twice of going home with Solas if she was aware of a stately woman sitting in a palatial estate surrounded by her reading group picking up her phone and seeing her son holding a girl’s hand she’s never heard of before. Ellana wouldn’t have cared for the way that Mythal’s lips snarled, not because her son is dating someone Dalish, but because her son--her only child--didn’t tell her about dating anyone at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) If Ellana Lavellan had spent any time on clothing, she might notice how well Solas' suits fit, how they are custom made bespoke pieces made by Arlathan fashion houses, and that while the young of Arlathan are known for their outlandish attire, there is a similar impulse among the upper classes to wear understated, elegant clothing. 
> 
> (2) Although Arlathan is a decidedly elven city-state, it relies on strong relationships with nearby countries for trade. Formally a backwater stretch of land granted to elven refugees fleeing from alienages, the country is home to a number of foreign nationals from Minrathous, Par Vollen, the Anderfels, and Navarra who have contributed to a fusion of unusual national dishes and local traditions not found elsewhere in Thedas. 
> 
> (3) mor-lanalin translates as big mother, a term considered to be somewhat offensive, so Arlathan children often refer to their grandmothers affectionately as “lahma" generally (if not blissfully) unware of the Ferelden herd animal commonly used for wool production. 
> 
> (4) The words shemlan/flatears has a complicated history in Thedas. When used by the Dalish, it is usually a gentle acknowledgement that an individual is not an elf. For the Arlathan elite, it is to indicate anyone who is not from the city-state, elf or otherwise.


	3. Mythal, Arlathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many warring factions of ladies.

**Mythal, Arlathan**

Every week Mythal convened her closest friends and sisters-in-law to read the Chant of Life at her palatial estate (1). She made sure the little wedges of cucumber and smoked fish were put out and that her hair was smooth and neat before sitting down in the entryway to greet her guests. 

As always, Vivienne arrived first, making excuses about how long her driver had recommended it would take to make the short drive from her adjacent property (2). Mythal knew Vivienne’s timing was so her best friend could privately show off yet another couture headpiece she had commissioned. This week, it was a gold hennin encrusted with small Antivvan rubies--a light-catching piece that would be immoderate at a state dinner, let alone Mythal’s front sitting room. 

Not that Mythal’s home was modest. In fact, it was quite the opposite, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city of Arlathan through a canopy of flowering palm trees (3). When the city-state was first founded in Mythal’s great-grandparents’ time, it was nothing but a swamp. Now, it was a resplendent beacon of prosperity, the magnificent view of crystal spires, intertwined with sprawling gardens offering a magnificent view in service of the resplendent gems Vivienne was shoving in Mythal’s face. 

No matter how beautifully the light cascaded on new hennin, Mythal momentarily resented that her friend couldn’t, for once, wear one of her reserved headpieces. 

Simply because she believed that Vivienne’s fashion choice would distract from her reading of the Chant of Light. 

What would Shartan have thought of such excessive wealth (4)?

Mythal knew better than to share her thoughts out loud, so she graciously welcomed Vivienne to sit on a plush salmon-colored settee set up in the central platform. The front sitting room was more of an enclosed garden. For a few moments, the women pleasantly drank tea out of porcelain cups, surrounded by indoor koi ponds, and admiring one wall completely tumbling with wild violet blossoms of crystal grace. The headdress only occasionally distracting Mythal from that week’s gossip. 

Could she believe that Vivienne’s stepdaughter, Andruil, had been promoted yet again? She was living in Kirkwall and “...had Solas finally done as he was told to make his mother happy and given her a ring.” 

“Oh, and _lasa ghilan_ , before Ghil’anin arrived, could Mythal believe that good-for-nothing nephew of her’s Ameridan shacking up that mainland city elf from those silly little movies he made. “Kitty,” Vivienne snorted, “What sort of name is Kitty? Does she think a stupid name like that will distract from the fact that she was in the most vile porno? (5)” 

Sylaise and Ghil’anin arrived together, flashing Mythal the strangest look. Almost as if she had food stuck on her face and was unaware. Fleeing to the bathroom before the readings began, Mythal checked her face in the bathroom mirror. It was more stately than beautiful. Her white hair brushed until it shone, honey almond-shaped eyes still youthful. She’d need some work soon, but not quite yet. The fine lines on her face looked wise rather than old. Content that her sisters-in-law were simply odd, as they were prone to be, Mythal walked back into the sitting room and listened for half-an-hour to Vivienne’s melodic voice read the Chant of Life. 

Vivienne was midway through the fourth canticle when Mythal’s phone made a dinging sound. 

“Oh, _ma’asha_ (4), can you believe it? I thought I turned the silly thing off,” Mythal pulled the phone out of her pocket with feigned sheepishness, “Might as well check, might be a hot stock tip.” 

It wasn’t a hot stock tip but an alert from Radio One Arlathan. She was about to click off the device entirely when she unexpectedly made out a photograph of her son’s face, lovingly grasping a nameless woman’s arm. At first glance, Mythal was sure that it must be some tabloid fling, perhaps with a movie star or another high-profile individual befitting her son’s standing. However, seeing the adoring look on Solas’ face, Mythal began to change her opinion. This was _the_ girlfriend. Why then, did Solas not say anything? 

The accompanying blurb offered no further insight. Kneeling to scoop her phone off the floor, Mythal stared again, pulling up her reading glasses from the platinum chain around her throat. _“Who is with Arlathan’s hottest bachelor, Solas Fen’Harel? Long single and ready to mingle, this hot elf hasn’t lost any of his chiseled look as he cradles this unknown hottie in Kirkwall by the name of Ellana Lavellan. It looks like these two love-birds are heading back to Arlathan for the wedding of the century.”_

Finishing the text, Mythal was suddenly aware of her reading group’s eyes on her. Vivienne had stopped reading, and all the women were gawking in hot, tense silence. Mythal wanted to throw her phone at her least favorite sister-in-law, Sylaise, who was flashing her a knowing, wicked grin when she spotted the picture on Mythal’s phone display. 

“ _L_ _asa ghilan_ , Mythal,” Sylaise exclaimed, “Solas is bringing a girl to Felessan and Briala’s wedding! I would have mentioned, but we all thought you knew…” 

Mythal didn’t want to admit she had not, in fact, known. For the first time in the twenty-or-so years since its founding, she found her standing as the _de facto_ leader of the reading group falling. Mythal was never the last to know, and now she was bamboozled--by her own son. 

“Solas dates so many girls. I can barely keep up.” 

“Oh darling, I thought Solas was coming alone to the wedding?” Vivienne said, slamming the leather-bound book in her hand with a loud snap. Mythal knew she was angry that Solas had yet to reconcile with her stepdaughter. The two had been hot and heavy for a while in their younger years, but Solas had broken off the relationship without explanation, much to Mythal’s dismay. 

Ghil’anin snickered in the chair next to Mythal. She had always been close to Solas, considering her daughter Astrid was his closest cousin. It was always Astrid, Solas, and Felessan when the children were young. “Oh, _fe’ma_ (6), you didn’t know!” 

The confab went briefly silent when a maid walked in to refresh the hot water for the tea. Mythal nodded when she paused to look at her face, indicating that it was time to bring in the champagne and cake. Although it was only two o’clock, rather than the usual four o’clock when reading adjourned, Mythal thought deserved a glass of the costly bottle she had bought to impress her reading circle. Anything to settle her nerves. 

“I’m sorry, but I must excuse myself for a moment to check that the cook brings sends the right cakes out,” Mythal breathed, smoothing down the ivory white fabric of her matching skirt and top. Her outfit was made out of crinkling silk, paired with large emerald droplets the size of small green olives, to catch the afternoon sun Mythal was careful to gracefully sashay out of the room with as placid of an expression as she could muster. She knew that the women wouldn’t be fooled, but Mythal wanted to give the illusion of calm at least. 

Stepping into a hidden alcove behind the ornate sitting room, Mythal leaned against the wall, counting her breaths. Her favorite maid, a young elven woman by the name of Maharial with fashionable rose pink hair cut into a bob, looked up at her with concern, whispering, “ _L_ _asa ghilan,_ madame, you look like you’ve had a shock. Can I get you some water? Or a chair?”

Mythal pitifully nodded, fanning herself with her hand while the maid snapped into action. Soon, she found several hands guiding her into a plush chair, mopping her sweaty brow with a cool, damp cloth. 

“Can you see that the frilly cakes are brought up, Maharial, and the champagne uncorked?” Mythal asked the moment she recovered her breath, “please let the ladies know that I am receiving a call from my son and will be momentarily held up.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Maharial said with a curtsey. She was used to such orders, following them without much thought. Mythal suspected the girl wasn’t entirely smart and that she was dutiful not out of any impulse other than complacency. Still, Maharial dotted on her mistress in a way that the others didn’t that earned the fat paycheck. 

Pulling out her phone again, Mythal checked the time. It was late in Kirkwall, the deplorable city where her son taught, but not too late that he wouldn’t pick up. 

**Solas and Ellana, Kirkwall**

Solas was sitting in his living room on a gigantic leather couch, reading a book on the fifth Blight. It was a first-hand account of the Darkspawn sack of Lothering. Although he suspected that most of it was exaggerated, if not fabricated entirely by its author Brother Gentivi (7), the ancient prose was captivating. Ellana had fallen asleep watching a romantic comedy. A soft fuzzy blanket pulled up to her chin. One more chapter, and he’d gently shake her awake and suggest they retire to bed. 

He jolted a bit when he felt his chest pocket buzz. Looking over to the clock on the kitchen clock, Solas saw that it was almost 11:00 p.m. There was only one person that would call at this hour: Mythal, his mother. 

He quietly stood, walking into his bedroom and shutting the door so Ellana wouldn’t be disturbed. Answering the phone on the last ring, he didn’t wait for his mother to start talking, “Hello, mom, everything ok?” 

Solas could hear the displeasure in his mother’s voice right away. It had a dangerous edge to it. The only other time in recent memory he had encountered the same level of wrath was when he told Mythal that he would not return to Arlathan a year ago. _“I was granted tenure, and it seems unfair to the university to flee so soon after the award.”_

Solas didn’t want to tell his mother--not yet, anyway--that he had met the most captivating woman a month prior. She was funny and smart, an economics professor who incorporated game theory into her research on emerging economies. Unlike all the women he had grown up with, she wasn’t fussy or entitled. Solas was in love. Stupidly, entirely, without question, in love. 

“That’s so funny,” Mythal’s high-pitched voice answered. It was high pitched and taut. The chuckling that followed shallow and performative. “Listen, my dear, are you bringing the girl you’re seeing to Felessan’s wedding?” 

Solas had to suppress a groan. How did his mother know about Ellana? He had been prepared to call her tomorrow, not wanting to ruin the afterglow of Ellana’s acceptance of his invitation. He knew that bringing Ellana home would be difficult, but he had wanted one more evening without the prying of his hometown. 

“I literally invited her tonight at dinner. How did you find out about that?” The moment he asked the question, Solas remembered to twin Arlathan elves in the diner, dressed in all their ridiculous finery. He did not keep up with social media trends. Still, he recalled a gossip column in a fashion magazine he had once read on a long flight home for Solstice, and a picture of two haughty elves, daughters of a shipping heir, who kept a scandalous blog of all of Arlathan elite with a litany of banal subjects: who was dating whom, who was marrying whom, and who was sleeping with whom. 

“Radio One Arlathan.” He didn’t repress the groan. 

“Your father and I are looking forward to having you home. And your room is all ready... _for you._ ” Mythal said in a clipped tone, indicating that there was to be no further debate. 

Solas didn’t need to dwell on the statement for long to get the implication. 

“Thanks, mother. Ellana and I will be staying together.” 

“I see. Well, I’m having the house redone, and it’s not ready for any guests. If this...Ellana comes. She will be more comfortable staying at a hotel.” 

“Mother, I will be staying with Ellana--hotel or otherwise. Let’s talk about this tomorrow?” 

Solas can hear Ellana stir awake in the adjacent room. She was often slow to be fully alert, and he knew that she’d come and find him as soon as she got her bearings. He didn’t want her first impression of his mother to be of them fighting. 

“Is _she_ over at your house?” 

“Yes.” 

“Solas--”

“Mother, I am almost forty years old. I do not need you--”

“I am afraid I have been distracted long enough from the blessed mother. Will you call me tomorrow with your updated itinerary?”  
A few more polite exchanges, and Solas clicked the phone off, returning to his living room. Ellana was sitting upright, groggily rubbing her face. Her hair was mussed on the side she had laid on the couch. 

“Your mother?” She asked. “Does she know--”

“Yes, and she is very excited to meet you,” Solas lied. He knew that his mother was a steely woman and that it would take months--if not years--for her to come around to the idea of her son dating an elf from the mainland, let alone a Dalish elf. He found it tiring to think about, except for Ellana’s feelings. 

“Oh, that’s exciting,” Ellana said in a sleepy voice before standing to wrap her arms around Solas’ middle. “I’m so ready to meet your family. If they made you, they all must be wonderful.” 

Solas kissed the top of her head, making a mental note to call Felessan tomorrow to make a hotel reservation. He hoped that Ellana was not aware enough of Arlathan customs to know it was a slight. “I’m so pleased you want to come.” 

“I googled Arlathan cuisine earlier while you were in the shower,” Ellana admitted. “I have a list of places for us to try. Do you think we’ll have time?” 

“I would expect no less, and _yes,_ once the wedding is over, we will have nothing but time.” 

Solas picked Ellana up, throwing her over his shoulder. She always pretended to hate when he did this, arguing that the action was inherently patriarchal. Only, this time she was giggling with glee as Solas scooped her up and tossed her on the center of his generously sized bed, her laughter turning to a sharp _oh_ when he flicked off the light. 

**Mythal and Vivienne, Arlathan**

When Mythal hung up her phone, she stepped back into her sitting room. The women quickly resumed their chatter after their obvious eavesdropping. Her sisters-in-law made an excuse to leave the moment the champagne had been finished, kissing Mythal on the cheek before walking arm-in-arm out towards the private underground garage. 

“Darling,” Vivienne said the moment they were alone again. “You seem to have quite a shock. What can I do for you?” 

“Oh, Viv,” Mythal lamented, a hand rising to her forehead like she might faint. “My one and only son leaves his home, traveling to the other side of the world. It was one thing when he was getting an education, but now shacking up with some _shem._ She’s...Dalish!” 

Mythal took out her phone and shoved the phone underneath Vivienne’s wrinkling nose. It was satisfying to watch her best friend grimace the moment she made out the lines of the woman’s _vallaslin_ (8). 

“Such an archaic cultural norm. Although these tattoos aren’t _so_ bad.” Vivienne said, tracing along the edges of her cheeks. “Darling, I think I have a proposal.” 

“ _Fe’ma,_ Viv, this had better be good.” 

“We can go to my estate in Val Royeaux, the one in the countryside with the spa, and get ready for the wedding, coming back for all the festivities, by that time--”

“A woman like that has no idea what she is getting into,” Mythal breathed in agreement. “By the time we return, she will have failed miserably, especially without us to guide her. Solas will be distraught--only we will have had nothing to do--” 

“Andruil is coming to the wedding. She can comfort Solas,” Vivienne nodded. “Also, I have this private investigator that I’ve been dying to introduce you to, darling.”

“Oh, Viv,” Mythal chortled. “It’s not too late. I think we can stop this before--”

“Yes, darling, we most certainly will.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Although the elves of Arlathan honor their heritage and the elven pantheon, Andrastianism was co-opted by many families, particularly wealthy families, as a means to bond with other elite families abroad. Although widely-practiced, elves rarely have the same zeal for following any of the creeds of the Chant of Life, preferring the artifact to the dogma. 
> 
> (2) Vivienne's palatial estate is at least a ten-minute drive. She would walk, but then her usually pristine white outfits might be smeared with mud or dust or simply she might get heatstroke. 
> 
> (3) Mythal, and when her husband is not away on business, live in a house made entirely out of crystal facets and steel. One can see this house through one of the busiest highways cutting through the center of the island. An architectural marvel, it really does not deserve its moniker as the "spaceship house." 
> 
> (4) As might be expected, Shartan's importance in the Chant of Life is double-fold in the city-state of Artlathan. You might well as not bring up Andraste. 
> 
> (5) A more polite way to say that one is a shemlin is simply to call them "of the mainland." City elves, are "of the mainland." Tevinter magisters are "of the mainland", Navarran necromancers are "of the mainland." 
> 
> (6) Fe'ma is an expression close to lasa ghilnan, only slightly more crude. It translates to "my fuck" and is close in use as "the fuck." An example might be, "The fuck is my son dating a Dalish elf for?" 
> 
> (7) Brother Gentivi is often read in private by history professors for were they to admit liking such a thing publically, they would meet endless ridicule. 
> 
> (8) Once a more elaborate tradition, many elves--brought up on a Dalish reservation or otherwise--proudly wear their face-markings as a way to differentiate their traditions from other elves. In the case of Ellana, her's are small delicate flowering branches, tattooed in white, easily hidden if she were to care. She doesn't.


	4. Ellana and Gheyna, Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana's mother educates her on elven customs when dress shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I wouldn't update as much? #thanksinsomnia

**Deshannah and Ellana, Kirkwall**

Ellana had a few other elven friends raised in the city and from the surviving reservations (1). All of whom expressed jealousy of the close relationship Ellana had with her mother, Gheyna. For instance, unlike many other elven mothers, Gheyna had only hinted that she would like grandchildren but hadn’t pressed Ellana to do the right thing and settle down and get married when she decided to pursue her Ph.D. 

Gheyna was independent and wanted her daughter to be as well.

To Ellana, there was, in fact, no better role model than her mother. Widowed when Ellana was still in the womb, Gheyna had fled to Kirkwall after the tribe disowned her. Ellana’s earliest memories were of her mother working long hours cleaning houses diligently, studying first to learn common and then to get her real estate license by night. By the time Ellana was five, they had moved to at least a dozen-or-so moldy cockroach-ridden studio apartments. 

Eventually, Gheyna’s hard work paid off, and when Ellana reached middle school, she secured full-time employment, quickly rising to become one of the city’s top real estate agents in the old alienage. Although Ellana had never gone without, the stable paycheck allowed Gheyna to purchase a modest townhome, enrolled Ellana in a private high school, and then sent an allowance as Ellana earned a full ride at the prestigious University of Denerim. 

At the moment, however, Ellana found her patience being tested by her mother. 

She had called Gheyna with the news that Solas had invited her to go home with him for the summer, expecting only encouragement. Instead, her mother had insisted on shopping with Ellana the very next day to find the perfect outfit and gifts for Solas’ parents. _“This is important!”_ Gheyna had crooned in the phone. _“You don’t understand elven parents. You have to make the right impression!”_

Usually, Ellana shops at nice but cost-effective shops, buying quality pieces for work that is neither fussy nor expensive. She was surprised when her mother insisted on going downtown to the fancy boutiques. Flipping over a price tag, Ellana is surprised to see an amount totaling a quarter of her last paycheck. 

“I’ll buy your dresses,” Gheynan squealed when Ellana protested. 

“Mom, this is ridiculous.” 

“Stop, I do nothing nice for you like the other elven children.”

Ellana is about to protest that it is simply not true. After all, Ellana goes over to her mother’s house for dinner at least once a week, heading home with a whole bag of pre-made meals for her and Solas to eat, a blessing during the school year. Whenever she has a bad day, she knows she can go over to her mother’s house and expect a thick slice of cake, or yogurt with honey, and an understanding ear. She even does her laundry at her mother’s house! 

Instead, seeing Gheyna’s mouth stretched into a thin line, Ellana says nothing, going to one of the racks and holds up a sleek back dress. Ellana likes it. The outfit has a square neck with gauzy cap sleeves, and the empire waist would be flattering on her. The sheer fabric overlay elegant even if it wasn’t flashy. 

“What about this one? It’s pretty?” 

Gheyna doesn’t answer, instead sucking her teeth loudly. 

Ellana takes a deep inhale. She knows that her mother is only zealously invested in Ellana’s trip because of how much Gheyna has come to like Solas. Her boyfriend and her mother have a bond, and when Ellana goes over early on Sunday nights for weekly dinner, Solas joins. At first, Ellana was worried her mother might be skeptical of him, considering he’s from Arltahan, but now the two joke and trade cooking tips. Unprompted, Solas regularly fixes things around Gheyna’s townhome. 

Although her mother had not said as much, Ellana knows she expects a proposal and day. Once she and Solas celebrated their one-year anniversary at a fancy restaurant (2), her mother started sending her badly taken snapshots of her colleague’s children’s wedding invitations. 

“Ok,” Ellana says. For a while, she skims the rows of dresses, trying to find something they can both agree upon. Instead, she’s distracted watching her mother navigating the rows--organized by color and then type--shaking her head. Her mother sticks out in the store. She’s wearing a pair of white chinos and wearing a patterned floral top that is a bit loud compared to the mostly monochromatic store design. Not for the first time, Ellana notices that her mother, a young-looking fifty, is actually pretty cute, her blue _vallaslin_ giving her a cheerful look framed by a cute red pixie cut. Ellana had been on her own for at least a decade. Why didn’t Gheyna have a boyfriend? 

“How about this one?” Her mother takes out a blue-and-white striped dress. It’s cute and girly. It would make Ellana feel like a stuffed cupcake to wear such a thing.

Ellana shakes her head and sticks her tongue out, turning to another rack, and selects a long-beaded aubergine dress with jeweled spaghetti straps that cross in the back. It is elegant and looks like it will be comfortable to wear in the tropics. 

“This one is pretty!” She insists. 

“You cannot wear that! Purple is for Elvhen funerals (3)!” Her mother pauses, pursing her lips, and takes out a satin green dress from the rack. “Now this, this color symbolizes good fortune and fecundity.” 

Ellana assents to her mother’s experience and reluctantly puts the hanger with the deep purple dress away. Gheyna is knowledgeable about such things growing up in a conservative elven household. Although Ellana never met her grandparents, she knows they had raised her mother with traditional values--and superstitions. If green were the right color to wear to impress Solas’ family, Gheyna would know. 

Still, Ellana can’t help but bristle a bit, teasing her mother. “Great! I was really wanting my first impression to be that I’m thinking about how many babies Solas and I will make.” 

Ellana knows she and Solas want children. They’ve talked about it several times but not in specific details. She’s also fully aware of how she would soon be termed as a “geriatric pregnancy” by an OB/GYN. 

“Listen, daughter,” Gheyna chides with a sharp inhale.”It was you who asked for my help picking out a dress to meet Solas’ family.” 

Ellana shakes her head. She’s not mad at her mother. She’s just trying to gain any bearings in the situation. “Ugh, I’m sorry, every time I bring up anything specific about Solas’ family, he changes the subject. He’s usually so open--I don’t know what it is about.”

She accepts a stack of green dresses from her mother in colors ranging from neon to emerald. 

“Maybe his parents are poor, and he’s working to send them money,” Gheyna says when they reach the fitting room. “They might work for one of the big houses (4). He is the only son, and that’s what good elven sons do for their parents.” 

Ellana laughs as she pulls on a scratchy glittering gown. . She’s seen a photograph of Solas’ mother and father in his apartment. He keeps a framed photograph on the desk. Judging by the suits the two are wearing, they aren’t poor, or “in service,” as her mother would say. They have stern expressions and are standing in the center of a lush garden, his mother holding a single lotus flower in manicured hands. 

“Oh, you are going to have a wonderful time.” Gheyna says, trying to console her daughter, “You’ve always wanted to travel to Arlathan.” 

Ellana steps out. The dress she is wearing doesn’t fit quite right. A fact her mother confirms with a shake of her head. It takes a few more tries before Ellana tries on the original gown her mother pointed out. It’s made out of a structured satin and criss-crosses in the bodice, a deep v in the back. It was flattering but not overtly sexy. It would work for the wedding. 

“Besides,” her mother says as they wait in line to check-out, “Maybe you’ll come back with a, dare I say, souvenir?” 

Ellana’s mother holds up a gaudy mood ring. It’s got a gigantic iridescent stone the same size as her knuckle. Although Ellana suspects that Solas is planning to propose and is actively signaling that he plans to pop the question the moment circumstances allow it to happen, Ellana doesn’t want to jinx it entirely by saying such a thing out loud. 

“Mom, enough! Solas and I haven’t even talked about marriage.” A pause. "His parents and grandmother have to like me, right?” 

Ellana’s true fear surfaces for the first time. She didn’t want to worry her mother, but the idea has gnawed away at her too much. She’s done some cursory research online and knows that Arlathan customs and etiquette are _way_ more formal than her upbringing. She thinks, especially, of the stern look on Solas’ mother’s face. He’s an only child, which will make it tougher for her to gain approval. 

Gheyna flashes her daughter a sour look and crosses her arm in exasperation. 

“Wait, what was that look. Mom, I need your help!” Ellana has switched to elven, an uncommon language outside of the alienage. Her mother responds as she glances around at the mostly human staff.” 

“Nothing. It’s just. Solas’ bringing a girl from the mainland to meet them? A lot of these overseas Elvhen families are nothing like us. They are different.” 

“How are they different? They’re elven. I’m elven. I’m so Elvehn that I’m an economics professor who writes about the value of sustainable farming practices, and I’m a vegetarian. I go every week to--” 

“Yes, but you grew up on the mainland. Your ears are pointed. You speak the language, but in your mind..,” Gheyan points to Ellana’s forehead, “...and in your heart,” Gheyan paused, pointing to Ellana’s chest. “You are different. But, wearing a lucky color and adhering to some of the traditions will make a good impression.” 

When they reach the register, much to Ellana’s embarrassment, her mother demands to speak to the manager and ask about a discount, if not for senior citizens (a stretch considering how young her mother looks), then for regular customers. The manager relents mostly because Ellana is a bright red and obviously suffering. 

Later, mother and daughter take the train up to another area of town and split an entree at a restaurant with open windows into one of the prettiest cobblestone streets with hanging lights and old trees. 

“I have some leftover whiskey you can bring his father from the company party. It is costly, dwarven made.” 

“Mom, I am not carting a bottle of liquor on the plane. Particularly if they can just buy the stuff there.” 

“Oh, Ellana,” her mother shakes her head in rare disdain. “When will you learn to listen to your elders!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Many members of the Dalish tribes have relocated to bigger cities. For many years, the once nomadic People were subjugated to reservations and not allowed to freely travel through most of Thedas. Now, many young people eschew elven tradition and the reservations are full of mostly old people and babies. 
> 
> (2) Ellana was woefully oblivious to the fact that the restaurant that Solas had taken her to was one of the most expensive Orlesian-Tevinter food destinations in the entire city. Recently awarded three stars, Solas had surreptitiously paid the bill ahead of time and booked a private so that his girlfriend wouldn't feel guilty that the entire meal was at least twice their paycheck. 
> 
> (3) The idea that purple is an unlucky color is not a current belief practiced by most elves except for funeral decorations. Like most of modern Thedas, elves freely wear black and purple to any and all formal events: weddings, baptisms, funerals, family reunions, and so forth. 
> 
> (4) big houses is a term used by many elves, both in Arlathan and otherwise, to refer to a noble house. Although many elves can claim heritage to the ancient elven houses, those with wealth regularly claim a connection to a so-called "big-house" which usually includes inherited family wealth and a whole staff of elven servants. A grueling job, that pays well, but not well enough.


	5. Ellana and Solas, Kirkwall Airport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where have you been Keeper Spock?" "Why thank you for asking. I have been playing Star Dew Valley."

**Solas and Ellana, Kirkwall Airport**

A week after Solas invited Ellana to go with him home, they pulled up in a yellow cab at Kirkwall International Airport. Located outside of the city, the sprawling airfield swarming both with locals and tourists determined to flee the city for the start of summer. Ellana hadn’t flown in a long time. In fact, she’s only traveled by air once before as most of the subjects she writes about are only accessible after long treacherous drives through remote locations. 

She dreaded the prospect of security—and the sixteen-hour flight—but was barely able to contain her excitement about traveling that far West. Solas held her hand, read his phone, and answered last-minute emails when they pulled up to the drop-off. 

“OK, here’s the plan. We check our bags, get through security,” Ellana said with her usual determination, “and then we can eat one of the three homemade meals my mother packed—.” 

Her list of demands was interrupted by an elegantly dressed flight attendant bearing an Arlathan Air nametag bowing gently to her with a bright grim. Glancing at the prim green suit, Ellana was confident that there had been some mistake, especially considering the two porters wheeling luggage racks behind her. She hadn’t packed enough to necessitate even one cart. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fen-Harel, Ms. Lavellan. We’ll take your bags and get you checked into first class.” The attendant says in high Elvhen (1).

“Thank you,” Solas responded with a graceful nod, placing his hand on the small of Ellana’s back to guide her away from the trunk towards the sidewalk. As she stepped onto the asphalt, Ellana’s incredulity grew. Although she had been addressed by name, she was optimistic that this had to be a mix-up of sorts. Clutching the ziplock back of meals to her chest, she shot her boyfriend a sour look. 

“Oh, no.” She continued to protest. “There’s been a mistake. We’re not first class. We’re in the economy section, for sure.” 

Saying the words out loud, Ellana realized that she couldn’t confirm that statement to herself as fact or fiction. She had let Solas make all the arrangements, only providing him with the necessary identification details. Had he sprung for first-class tickets? She knew that their salaries were about the same, and considering his general frugality, it was hard for her to believe he had purchased such an expensive ticket on his generous, but not exorbitant, salary. 

Ellana was about to push for more details and ask Solas what was going on when she felt the pressure on the small of her back increase, “it’s alright, It’s—" 

“But...” Ellana began gesturing at their luggage. She’d internalized the principle that one should never leave one’s items unattended, particularly at a bustling transport hub. A thousand scenarios flash through her mind about false accusations of terrorism or all of her new dresses being stolen. Her mother would be flabbergasted she’d even consider leaving them unattended. 

“Yes, the staff will bring those. We can leave them there.”

Ellana is stupefied. Totally and completely. She’s so confused that she can barely track as the flight attendant ushers her and Solas through a part of the airport that she’s never seen before–let alone knew existed. Ellana is confused by the following process. The flight attendant ushered her and Solas along to a part of the airport that she had never seen before, let alone knew existed. A small staff taking a momentary glance at her passport and then quickly pointing to a private metal detector. They travel through a hidden hallway, brought onto a large jet for the sixteen-hour flight. Allowed to board before everyone else, the flight attendant pulls back a gold, silk curtain with green fringe, where another smartly dressed attendant is holding a golden platter of champagne flutes. 

“Welcome aboard., Dr. Fen-Harel and Dr. Lavellan.” The new attendant says, handing them a fizzing beverage. 

The original flight attendant bows slightly to Solas and Ellana, stretching a hand, palm open in the direction of one of four private pods set-up for them to sit. “Here is the way to your private suite. 

Ellana has thought to ask Solas what is going on several times but is so flabbergasted she can’t fully process what she sees. One time, she even pinched herself as if to check that what she’s seeing is real. Now sitting adjacent to one another in the pod, she finally has the opportunity. 

The pod they have been assigned is full of generous leather armchairs, two huge flatscreen TVs, even a full-length wardrobe and bathroom. 

“Thank you very much,” Solas says to the flight attendant, who dutifully responds, “You’re welcome, Dr. Fen-Harel. After take-off, would you like to enjoy the lounge chairs, or shall we convert your pod to a bedroom?” 

Ellana thrusts the bag of her mother’s meals at Solas into his arms to keep him from responding, giving him a look that says, _later._ The flight attendant gets her meeting and, with another slight bow, flees to the front of the plain. 

Solas sits down in one of the leather chairs unperturbed, as if this is all normal. 

Ellana stands, trying to assess the scene. “Solas, we can’t afford this—this champagne is fancier than anything we’ve ever had…” 

“ _Hmm?_ Solas says, picking up a menu. “My family has business with the airline. The tickets are a perk.” 

Ellana isn’t wholly buying the explanation. 

“What kind of business?”

“Real estate, investment, or other things. Nothing interesting—do you want to order some wine? It’s a long flight. (2).” 

Ellana has a sudden epiphany. She thinks of the portrait of Solas’ parents on his dresser at home. How stately they look. 

“So your family is rich.” 

“Um. I’d say we are comfortable.” 

“Creators, that is exactly what a super-rich person would say. Obviously, it’s not a big deal, but I find it strange that I had no idea. I mean, you have a Varric’s Juice card, you use my streaming passwords--you play rugby on the quad rather than pay for a membership…”

“I like spending time at campus, thank you very much. Yes, my family has money.” He pauses, gazing out the window. “I’ve always thought of their wealth as theirs, not mine. You know I like to keep things simple.” 

Ellana's head begins to swirl. She can't believe that Solas has kept this from her. She pushes down a sinking suspicion that there is more. Wants to stop it before anything else disturbs her, carefully pieced together excitement. Solas, however, doesn't notice. Picks up the menu again and excitedly turns the pages. It's so natural to him, she thinks, to be amidst this luxury and the shifting context gives her cognitive dissodence. 

“I understand that. I’m traveling sixteen hours, however, to meet them. It is nice to know what I’m getting into. And, you know, they are your family—and I want to understand them.” 

“Well, they are my family—much like anybody else’s. There’s half of them that you love and respect, and then there’s the other half. 

“Which half am I meeting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) High Elven is the dialect those in Arlathan speak. It's mostly elven revival with hints of Tevene sarcasm and some qunlat derivitives. 
> 
> (2) Elvhen wine is a lot like the Orlesian absinthe. Brewed out of herbs and fermented it is considered to be a healthy morning beverage.


End file.
